What I should be doing is writing a cover letter for the job I want to apply to. What I should be doing is working on the latest chapter in my novel. What I could be doing (but definitely won’t do) is asking my boss what he needs done for the day. For now, I will do none of the above. Today, I will start blogging again.
Again, you say? Where were you before, you wonder?
I blogged for about eight years at another site, also anonymous, also vent-y, also snarky, also as a way to work through my frustrations. I had friends and family who knew about that blog, though, and I felt that I lost my personality as more and more people knew about it. And for a bit, there wasn’t much to say, so I decided to close the blog. It was never popular, it became less honest as time went by, and I worked on it less and less every month. So goodbye it went, the way of the dodo, never to return again.
But the need to write, to express my frustrations, to vent to someone other than my poor husband or siblings or parents or friends, is rising up in me once more. So here I am, blogging again. Because I feel the need to write, but I don’t feel like writing my novel.
So a bit about me: I’m 35, woefully frustrated in a new job that was a massive betrayal in terms of what I was offered and what I’m actually getting, and oh, my husband and I decided that we wanted a baby after all. After years of indecision on both our parts, we decided that propagating the species was up our alley. We’ve been at it for about six months, and I sometimes think I’m the only Latina in my very Latina family who can’t get knocked up immediately. We’re in agreement that January 1 means we’re both headed to the RE to get tested, but until then, each month is filled with hope and then crushing despair. Never mind that the crushing despair always seems to match up with something awful going on at work. Goooood times!
I’m also working on a novel. I have about three chapters written, working on a fourth, and I’m about to take a class where I have to write a certain number of chapters in the same number of weeks. I’m absolutely dreading it and am excited about it (partly because it lets me tell my boss, no, I will not fucking stay again until 10pm because your ass didn’t get into the office until noon).
By day, I’m an editor with a small, failing company (as opposed to the flourishing company that was sold to me when I left a frustrating yet inspiring-ish job at a major nonprofit). I’m supposedly the editing boss, but my staff consists of not even one person. My own boss is a passive-aggressive jerk, as are most people in the company. If they had their way, I’d be in office all day long editing their last-minute materials. What they should’ve hired is a night editor, but instead they got me. And they are incredibly frustrated that I push back, big time, and don’t acquiesce to their every whim (I look young, I’m quiet, I live near work; I think they thought they were getting a pushover who’d do anything to stay employed, not an established writer and editor who calls bullshit when she sees it and could walk away if it became mentally necessary).
I am massively unhappy and spend much of my time crying when it comes to my job. My only saving grace is my husband, who is the sweetest, funniest, most adorable man on the face of this planet (no, you cannot have him). He keeps me as grounded as much as he can, but knows he can’t do it all. Nor do I expect him to.
So of course I’m in therapy to overcome my work situation. It’s going slowly. And of course I’m looking for a new job.
And that’s what’s to be said at the moment. The next post will hopefully be more coherent.